Too Young
by dancergrl1
Summary: Just a little piece for Barricade Day. How Grantaire sees everyone gathered at the Musain one night.


**A/N: This is my piece for Barricade Day! Happy barricade day to all of the Mizzies out there! **

**Also-Shoutout to RThenardier, she has this amazing first story! Go and give it a read, you won't regret it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis. If I did, the barricade boys would've lived.**

**ENJOY!**

I look around, at this gathering of young boys. Too young to be planning a revolution, to be planning for war. I see schoolboys, a poet, a joker, medical students, a worker, all too young to be facing this fate. Too young.

I see Courfeyrac, our center, planning this revolution. He is the glue that keeps us together, but he is not always serious. He can be playful, and is usually trying to get the opposite sex to come home with him. Much to most of our chagrin, it usually works. He is always raving about what girl went home with him last night. He is also caring, keeping our gamin safe and fed when he needs it.

Next to our center is our gamin, Gavroche. He is a wisp of a boy, toughened mentally by the streets. He is Courfeyrac's better half, always helping and hanging around. He came every day, and he is always bearing the news of the day. He is loved by all of the group, however, and many will admit that he's the best part of the meetings.

Our guide, Combeferre, also our leader and center's best and oldest friend. He is often the one with the best solutions, and the logical side of our fiery chief and center. He also acts as medic, being a student of medicine himself. He is the one who can make sense of a complicated situation, and explain a solution in a simple way.

Our poet sits, staring out the window, lost in his world of beauty. Jehan Prouvaire, always late to the meetings because he was caught up in a whirlwind of inspiration because of a flower or even a small sparkle off of a puddle after a rainstorm. I imagine winter was dull for him, but perhaps not. He was the one who helped supplement the speeches, as well.

Next to our poet is our daydreamer. Marius Pontmercy, a lovelorn fool who saw nothing relevant to the cause. I often wonder why our chief kept him around. Perhaps because of their history. He was always going on about the wonderful girl he had seen in the street and fell instantly in love with. It was annoying to all in the vicinity, and twice as much for the chief. Jehan loved him, he was always inspiring.

Following him was our gamine and correspondent from the people. Eponine Thenardier, a gamin who was in love with our resident daydreamer. She followed Marius like a shadow, and was always delivering his little love letters to the girl who he had seen. I honestly felt for her, she would do anything because she didn't know that he would never return her feelings.

Our worker, Feuilly, barely leaving himself time to think, working multiple jobs to survive. He was the only one of the Amis who did not attend university, but none of us thought any different of him. We respected him for his perseverance to survive on his own, and never give up. He was strong.

Our resident fighter, Bahorel. He threw a mean punch that packed plenty of power behind it. Believe me, I would know. He was best friends with Feuilly, and they shared an apartment. He was more often than not being looked after by one of our two medical students, along with the unlucky boy of the group. While large and intimidating, he had a soft side that he often brought out for Gavroche. The gamin melted his heart.

Lesgles, also known as Bossuet, was the enemy of Lady Luck. He would trip on the doorstep, only to run into a barmaid and end with the drink on his new cravat, because the last one was ripped when he snagged it on a tree branch. Yes, his luck was certainly perfect. He was often the patient of our malade imaginaire, also our second Medical student.

Joly, our imaginary sick friend, and the one who was often treating Bahorel and Bossuet. The two were often the ones who came into the meetings to get various limbs stitched or bandaged because of a fight or fall. He was very scared of being sick, but often he was the level-headed one when it came to providing care. We all loved him.

Lastly, we have our chief, our leader. Julien Enjolras. Blonde hair, blue eyes shining like a fire is lit behind them, passion radiating from him like heat. Our fearless leader. He led this group, delivering speeches around Paris and planning and editing his plans for the barricades. We all trusted him, and he vowed never to fail us.

Finally, there's me. Grantaire, the drunkard, the winecask, the cynic. Perhaps I deserve these names, but I doubt in this revolution as much as Enjolras believes in it. I feel as if we all are being led to death, and when I voice it, I am argued against, and I know Apollo revels in the strength that I give his argument. Perhaps I do it to see his smile, perhaps because I have no idea what actually comes out. I just know that I argue with him for entertainment.

I often wonder if they see what I do. I see so much potential in them, so many ways to continue on with their lives.

If only they saw what I did.


End file.
